


Animal Attraction

by Octinary



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Metaphors, Ciri ships it, First Kiss, Harm to Animals, M/M, Meet-Cute, Or From Jaskier's POV Meet-Grumpy, unconventional flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octinary/pseuds/Octinary
Summary: When Geralt brings the wounded but still breathing skunk that Ciri hit with their trunk into the park services building, he finally meets Jaskier, the new vet tech that started there a few weeks ago.Jaskier decides to keep the sometimes smelly, ornery, monochrome sweetheart.  Oh, and he takes care of the skunk too.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 48
Kudos: 296
Collections: Geraskier Holiday Exchange 2020, The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	Animal Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> CW: An animal gets hurt in this. It is by accident and the person who hurts the animal is very sorry and ensures that the animal receives proper care. The animal makes a full recovery. There is talk, before they know the animal is going to be fine, of potentially euthanizing it to put it out of its misery.
> 
> This is a gift for [prettyboy-parker](https://prettyboy-parker.tumblr.com/) for the Geraskier Holiday Exchange, who asked for a Modern!AU where Geralt is a single dad and Jaskier works at the local animal shelter. Geralt takes Ciri to the shelter every so often to look at the animals, but he’s really looking at Jaskier. Ciri notices and makes her dad talk to him.

As soon as he opens the passenger side door and steps out of the car into the cool September air, Geralt knows two things: one, the creature that Ciri had been unable to avoid when it had darted into the road was a skunk, and two, it was, regrettably, still alive. The smell is all permeating and unmistakable, and the pathetic cries it is making are easy to follow to the writhing body on the gravel shoulder.

He hears the driver’s side door open and Ciri’s panicked voice. “Dad, oh God, dad. Is it okay? It doesn’t sound okay! What are we going to do? I didn’t mean to! I didn’t see it! It just ran out and- Is it okay? Dad, is it going to be okay?” He can tell without looking that she is starting to cry.

“Get back in the car, Ciri. Passenger side.” He wishes fervently that Ciri wasn’t here as he pulls the flashlight out of his jacket pocket. If he had been alone, Geralt would have just put the thing out of its misery with no hesitation. Being a park ranger, it would hardly be the first time that he had finished what a car had started. In fact, if it is really severely injured he is going to do that anyway regardless of his daughter’s feelings, but in the beam of bright artificial light he can see it struggling to crawl away. It’s tail and right back leg look pretty mangled; the other three legs are dragging it forward inch by agonizing inch. Uncomfortable in the light, it hisses and tries vainly to move faster. Swearing under his breath, Geralt extinguishes the light, takes off his jacket and easily nets the thing.

“You better not have fucking rabies,” he mutters at the animal as he hauls it back to the car. The smell is never going to come out of the fabric, but it is his work jacket, standard issue from the very park they are currently in. The very park where he had had the brilliant idea of letting Ciri, two weeks away from sixteen, practice driving for the first time. Night had seemed like the perfect time for her to try, what with the roads all but abandoned after the park was closed to its daily visitors. Just his luck for this to happen.

He opens the passenger side door of the old Chevy C/K. In the sickly orange light that flickers on from the dome light, he can see the tear tracks on Ciri’s face. “Here.” He hands her the bundle. “Keep it wrapped up tight so it can’t bite or scratch you. We’ll take it to the park station. There’s always a vet on call.” Ciri nods and swallows the lump in her throat with a small whine. Geralt kisses her quickly on the forehead. “It’ll be okay. We’ll do everything we can.”

As Geralt starts the truck, Ciri gently rocks the animal in her lap, either instincts or the inexorable socialization of women in society prompting her to try to soothe it like a baby. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that, as a wild animal, that’s probably not as comforting to the wounded skunk as she wants it to be. You need to be raised with that kind of cuddling to appreciate it, as Geralt, of all people, should know. When Ciri had first invaded his life full time, when the then four year old had been orphaned by a car crash and Geralt, her godfather, took full custody, it had been a daily conscious effort to make himself offer her the physical comfort his own draconian upbringing had lacked. Only 22 himself when she became his, Geralt dedicated his life, with the singular dedication and focus he was known for, to raising her right. To his never ending joy and delighted surprise, it seems to have worked. Something beautiful has grown from the mud of his own childhood. At fifteen, Ciri was, in Geralt’s obviously completely unbiased opinion, perfect: caring and careful, compassionate and comfortable in her own skin. And currently singing softly to a crippled skunk.

“Shh, shh. I’m so sorry, little one. I’m so sorry. Everything will be okay, you’ll see. My dad will make it better, I promise. Shh, shh.” Miraculously, that does seem to do something to calm the thing. Well, either that or it is dying. Geralt speeds up.

When they get to the big lumbering building that houses the Visitor’s Centre, the park offices, the dispatch for the rangers and the vet clinic, he sees in the parking lot, among a few other scattered vehicles, Dr. Triss Merigold’s car and breathes a small sigh of relief. She had come to the park to work with the bears, but has consistently shown a willingness to try to help any creature that crosses her path, so she shouldn’t give him too hard of a time about the skunk. He leaves Ciri in the public area of the station, with the postcards and the pamphlets, and brings the wounded animal to Triss’ research lab himself. She looks grim when he shows her the damage and worries her bottom lip between her teeth, but at least it looks like she was still up and he didn’t have to wake her.

“I’ll see what I can do, Geralt, but I’m not making any promises. Small mammals aren’t really my area of specialization. When you hit it, why didn’t you just…” She draws an index finger across her throat as the sentence trails off. She may be a veterinarian, and genuinely want to help animals, but she’s also been working here for almost a decade and is very familiar with the reality of life in the park. Skunks are hardly an endangered species; she’s clearly not sure why he cares so much about this one in particular.

Geralt winces. “Ciri hit it.”

Triss’ eyes go wide. “Shit. Okay. Got it. I should know for sure whether it’ll make it in an hour or so. You going to stick around?”

The thought of trying to get Ciri to bed while the skunk’s fate is still hanging unresolved is not a pleasant one. “Yeah. Thanks Triss.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She sighs and shakes her head before going to shoo him out.

“Do you need help?” he offers. He isn’t exactly trained for this, but he’s not squeamish and she might just need a second pair of hands.

“No, that’s okay. Jaskier’s still here too.” She grabs a needle and a vial of something to knock the skunk out before she starts.

“Who?”

She looks up with fond exasperation from her work. “Jaskier Pankratz. The new vet tech? The one who started here three weeks ago? The one I have told you to stop by and say, ‘Hi,’ to at least eight times now, but you never seem to have the time?”

Geralt just scowls at her teasing and retreats back to where he left Ciri, nervous and pacing.

She pounces on him as soon as he comes into sight. “Is the skunk going to be okay?”

“I gave it to Triss,” he rubs her back soothingly. “She’s very good at what she does. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

He brings Ciri to the ranger’s lunch room, plastered with faded safety posters and scenic views of the park from the eighties, and makes her a hot chocolate while they wait. It isn’t long before the door is swinging open and a young man, Jaskier presumably, is walking in.

“Are you the ones who brought in the- Oh God!” His momentum stops dead as he’s obviously hit with the combined stench of the both of them still coated liberally in the skunk’s spray. Jaskier’s bright blue eyes start to water, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Yep. You’re the ones who brought in the skunk, alright. Good news! She’s going to make it!”

“Yes!” With a whoop, Ciri jumps up from the cheap, uncomfortable plastic chair and Jaskier wins a lot of points in Geralt’s esteem by letting the teenager, pungent as she is, throw her arms around him and hug him without complaint.

He even spins her once, making her giggle, before putting her back down, which Geralt can’t help but find a touch suspicious. Ciri’s getting to the age where he can’t be too careful. But the, now that Geralt is looking, admittedly very attractive young man takes a respectful step back, hands not lingering anywhere inappropriate, before continuing. “Tail, right hip and leg were broken, but it was fairly clean for a collision with a car. Shouldn’t even have a limp. Do you want to see her?”

“Can I? Ciri asks eagerly and is off running as soon as Jaskier nods.

“Is that a good idea?” Geralt asks softly as they follow along behind her.

Jaskier shrugs. “The skunk is going to be out of it for another half hour at least. She won’t care. And from how Triss was fretting about disappointing her, I thought it might do Ciri some good. She really was worried, huh?” He looks impressed and nudges Geralt in the bicep, teasingly. “You did a good job with her.”

It was a common misconception that Geralt had to deal with over the years: that being a single father, and not even her birth father at that, he was somehow ill equipped to care for her, that it was somewhat of an unexpected miracle that she had turned out as she had, and not a hell of a lot of hard work. It was familiar, but he still bristled. “Surprised?”

The other man just laughed though, light and musical. “Honestly? No. Triss and Eskel both said you were a complete sweetheart. I was trying to work in a joke about how she doesn’t have your bad manners, what with the fact that I met all the other rangers ages ago while you’ve been sullenly avoiding me like the plague.”

“Oh.” Geralt can’t help but flush at that, somewhat on the backfoot after expecting a fight and receiving a compliment instead. He also does feel a little guilty about avoiding the new vet tech. Ciri’s volleyball team had been in the divisional championships so he hadn’t been able to make it to the after work drinks that Triss had arranged at the end of Jaskier’s first week and that had apparently been an evening to remember. In the space of a few hours, Jaskier had effortlessly charmed the hell out of the whole park. After that, Eskel and Lambert, the two rangers he most frequently shared shifts with, couldn’t shut up about the charismatic man and that had just made everything nine kinds of awkward. Geralt found meeting new people uncomfortable at the best of times and the pressure of knowing everyone else already liked Jaskier just made working up the social reserves to introduce himself that much harder. Besides, he doesn’t need any new people in his life. Still, the man had been trying to be sociable, not accusatory, so Geralt stammers, “Sorry, I-”

“No, no.” Jaskier waves off his embarrassment, genuinely unconcerned. “The jump from ‘you raised Ciri well’ to ‘despite your own abysmal manners’ was forced. Didn’t flow naturally at all. You were right, and you should say so. In my defense though,” his tone turns playfully teasing again, “my banter game is not at it’s best; I’ve been at work since six this morning and right when I was about to go home for the night some handsome doofus brought in a skunk his daughter hit while, if I’m not mistaken, illegally driving his work truck?”

The unexpected compliment flusters Geralt, but he mercifully doesn’t have to respond to it, since they have made it back to the examination room and Ciri bounds over, skunk still conked out and wrapped securely in her arms. “Triss says she’s going to be just fine, Dad! Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Yeah.” He affectionately rubs Ciri’s head.

Triss looks tired, but pleased with herself. She nods to where the two men are lurking in the doorway. “I see you two have finally been introduced.”

“Oh!” Jaskier conks himself on the forehead. “Not quite! I knew there was something I was forgetting.” He turns to Geralt and offers him his hand. “Julian Alfred Pankratz. But you can call me Jaskier. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Geralt takes it. “Geralt Rivia.” And then, because the man does seem to be witty and charming and kind, he adds, “The pleasure’s mine.”

Staring into open blue eyes, he does not see the knowing look Triss and Ciri exchange.

*

“Dad, can we go visit Flower after school?” Ciri springs the question on him when he puts the plate of bacon and eggs down in front of her.

“Flower?” Geralt had been busy trying to work out the grocery list for this week while he cooked breakfast and had only been half listening to his daughter’s musings.

“The skunk. The one that I-” she swallows a mouthful of eggs and the lump in her throat and Geralt can’t help but be a little bit proud of her for taking full responsibility, “the one that I hit.”

“You named it Flower?” For some reason, that seems like the important part to Geralt’s grocery-filled mind. She shouldn’t be naming wild animals.

“Mm-hmm.” She nods. “Like the skunk in Bambi. It was Jaskier’s idea.”

“Was it?”

“Yep.” Geralt isn’t sure if she just ignores his disapproving tone or doesn’t pick it up in the first place. “So can we?”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a wild animal. She shouldn’t name it. She shouldn’t get attached. He shouldn’t encourage this. But a tiny voice inside of him helpfully points out that it wouldn’t be the worst excuse to see Jaskier again. He should make an effort, after all, considering his rude avoidance of the man for the first three weeks of his employment. “Fine.”

*

“Ciri! And Geralt! What a pleasant surprise!” Jaskier beams at them as they come in. “Here to see our convalescing Flower?”

“Is she doing okay?” Ciri rushes past him to the section of the research lab that has been set aside for temporarily holding animals. The pen they have the skunk in is about 3 feet by 3 feet, lined with cedar wood chips and contains a hollow log that Flower is currently using as a house. Ciri kneels in front of the cage, trying to get a better look and the sulking skunk.

Jaskier tosses the clipboard he was working on onto the counter and spins his stool around to watch Ciri coo at Flower. “As well as can be expected. She’s a bit grumpy, but you would be too with your leg in a cast.”

“Hm.” Geralt huffs a small laugh. Jaskier raises a brow and Geralt goes to join him, leaning against the counter, so he can explain in a hushed voice. “She was in a car crash when she was four. Lost her parents. Broke her leg. She was in a cast for two months. I would say grumpy is an understatement.”

“Oh,” Jaskier's smile abruptly vanishes, and his whole face seems to fall. The man is ridiculously easy to read, every emotion playing across his features like a show. “The poor thing.”

“Uh,” Geralt realizes belatedly that maybe this topic is a little heavy for a second meeting. He hadn’t meant to bring up the dead parent thing per se, more the humourous image of little Ciri pouting and huffing when she had been hampered by the cast and unable to run about and get into all the trouble she pleased. “She’s fine, now. Obviously. She was so young, she doesn’t really remember it.”

“Mm. Small mercy.” 

“She doesn’t need your pity.” Geralt can’t help but snap and Jaskier winces at the tone. Dammit. Why is he so bad at this? The man was just trying to make pleasant conversation and within a minute Geralt is attacking him. “I mean, you don’t have to make a big deal of it.” 

Jaskier, understandably, still looks distraught, leaving Geralt desperate to fumble the conversation forward. “I broke my leg once.” Geralt winces as the words leave his mouth. He could kick himself for being so awkward. “Fuck.” Geralt swears softly. “In case you had not yet figured it out, I am not the best at small talk. This is why I don’t go out of my way to meet new people.”

Jaskier smirks up at him through his lashes. “Then to hell with small talk. Tell me something real. How’d you break your leg?”

And Geralt would, except all the saliva seems to have left his mouth and no amount of swallowing will bring it back.

“Can I feed her?” Ciri interjects, saving Geralt once again.

“Sure!” Jaskier stands and goes to the fridge. “Do you know what skunks eat?”

“Everything.” Geralt mutters the answer to the question. It has actually been a real problem keeping them out of the garbage bins on the campsites. They’re almost as bad as the damn racoons.

“Everything is right, although I was asking Ciri since I sort of would expect a park ranger to know at least that much about the animals under his jurisdiction.” His tone is light and teasing again as he pulls out a pre-prepared bowl and tugs the saran wrap off of it. “We’re mostly going with fruits, root vegetables and insects though.” He hands the bowl to Ciri and opens the cage door so she can scoot it in. Flower pokes her nose out of the log, sniffing greedily, before limping to the bowl and digging in.

“Ah! She’s eating! That’s a good sign, right?” Ciri turns, wide eyed for confirmation.

“Mm-hmm. Return of appetite is always a good sign.” Jaskier nods, returning to the fridge. “And if she finishes her dinner, you can give her a treat for dessert. Straight from the hive.”

“Skunks like honey?” Ciri asks.

“Skunks love honeybees.” Jaskier takes out a small glass jar filled with the insects. “Do you know how they get them in the wild?”

Ciri shakes her head.

Jaskier turns to Geralt, a small challenging smirk on his face. “You were so willing to jump in earlier, Geralt. Does the wise and learned park ranger know how skunks hunt bees?”

Geralt is forced to also shake his head and concedes, “I didn’t know they liked bees.”

Jaskier squats near Ciri and, when she doesn’t flinch away, tips a few of the frozen bugs into her hand. “Here. Keep your hand flat and move it towards her slowly.”

“Is that safe?” Geralt twitches with the urge to pull Ciri away from the perceived danger. Jaskier is the expert here and should know what he is doing though.

Jaskier shrugs, overly nonchalant. “She didn’t bite me this morning.”

Geralt throws himself forward and grabs Ciri’s shoulder, ready to bravely save her, but by the time he’s there the skunk is already tentatively sneaking honey bees off of Ciri’s palm and, annoyed at his overbearingness, Ciri shakes off his grasp. She giggles, eyes wide as Flower finishes her snack. “Oh, she’s so sweet. Her tongue tickles!”

“Skunks hunt bees by making a nuisance of themselves in front of the hive, scratching around until the guard bees come out to investigate. Then they snatch them up.” Jaskier seems to be explaining it to Ciri, but his eyes are locked on Geralt’s.

“Don’t they get stung? Wouldn’t that discourage them?” He recognizes it as his own voice, but Geralt doesn’t remember consciously deciding to ask.

Jaskier just smiles at him. “They’ve got pretty thick fur and they are very determined. Skunks are better protected against tiny barbs and jabs than you might think. And, for them, the payoff is worth the potential pain.”

*

Over the next month, they end up visiting Flower a dozen or so times. Jaskier is, as always, pleased to see them and a veritable wealth of skunk facts. After the first week, Geralt takes to meeting Jaskier for lunch, ostensibly so that even on days when Ciri can’t visit he can bring a status report home to share over dinner. It’s not like spending more time with the chatty man is a hardship.

True to his word, Jaskier never makes small talk with Geralt. They talk about the park and why they like working there: Geralt has always liked the wilderness and wants to preserve it, Jaskier finds tending to wild animals more exciting than a never ending litany of spoiled dogs and overweight cats.

They talk about their pasts: Geralt’s time at the orphanage, his friendship with Pavetta and how he got custody of Ciri when barely more than a teenager himself, Jaskier’s large family, his wild youth and high school band which actually came tantalizingly close to taking off and delayed his going to university. This is his first job since graduation, but he is 30, not the 21 or 22 that Geralt had expected when he heard of the vet tech’s hiring.

They joke about movies they’ve seen and games they’ve played and Geralt painstakingly explains the rules and regulations of volleyball to a very attentive Jaskier so that he can properly appreciate exactly how good Ciri is at it. Jaskier asks Geralt how he broke his leg and he tells him about trying racing motorcycles when he was eighteen. Geralt asks Jaskier why exactly he does know so much about skunks and he just laughs and says that he’s always had an interest in things that other people shied away from. Somehow, talking with Jaskier never feels like a chore. It’s nice. And if Jaskier is a little handsy, if he has a tendency to touch Geralt’s arm when talking, or clap him on the shoulder or lean in for little hugs, well, that’s nice too.

He knows he should be surprised at the liberties he starts to let Jaskier take with touch. He has never been overly fond of it and had always blamed the lack of it when he was young for his aversion. He had trained himself into it for Ciri’s sake, and assumed that she was the singular exception. Somehow Jaskier seemed to be weaseling his way into that group as well.

“Do you want to hold her?” Jaskier asks Ciri one evening, when she’s got the skunk eating placidly out of the palm of her hand.

“Yes!” Ciri answers quickly, but she doesn’t grab for the animal. She knows enough to wait for Jaskier to show her what to do. He coaxes Flower out of the cage and into Ciri’s lap with a slice of apple. From there it is simple for Ciri to slip her arms around the still happily chewing animal.

“Ciri,” Geralt cautions, “Skunks are solitary creatures. They don’t like being around others. Do you think she really wants you cuddling her?”

“Actually,” Jaskier helpfully chimes in, “Skunks are pretty cuddly through the winter, especially the girls. They need their alone time, for sure, but they nest together in big huddles, sometimes up to twelve of them together. They don’t properly hibernate, like bears, but they do get pretty lazy. And I’ve learned that this little beauty quite likes being scratched under her chin.”

Flower, as if to prove Jaskier right and Geralt wrong, lifts her head up for attention and chirps happily.

“Should you really be hand feeding her and handling her so much?” The question is probably weeks late in coming, but Geralt voices it nonetheless. “Isn’t she going to have a hard time assimilating back into the wilderness?”

“Ah,” Jaskier looks a little sheepish. “She isn’t going back to the wilderness. I’m, well, I’m keeping her. Her scent glands were badly damaged in the accident, so she doesn’t have a spray anymore. It’s not really fair to toss her back out into the cold hard world unarmed, so to speak, so I looked into it and they’re legal to keep as pets here. She’s really grown on me, the little devil. She’s very clever and curious and highly sociable if a little ornery, probably because she’s still quite young. Triss and I guess she’s probably no more than two, so I’ve got years left with her, the pretty little thing.” Jaskier leans over and strokes along the skunk’s back, who arches into it. “I’ll probably be taking her home in another couple of weeks, when the cast’s come off.”

“Oh.” Ciri murmurs quietly.

“Of course,” Jaskier quickly adds when he sees her dejected face, “You’re more than welcome to visit me and Flower anytime you like.” His blue eyes meet Geralt’s and he smiles. “You and your father.”

All of a sudden, Geralt can see it in his mind’s eye, the three of them, Jaskier, Geralt, and Ciri, together in a big house. He can imagine cooking the lasagne he was bragging about the other day for them, while Jaskier, who has repeatedly insisted he should not be let near any cooking appliance, makes a salad and Ciri puts together some garlic bread. He can imagine Jaskier, wrapped up beside him with a mug of spiked hot chocolate as they watch one of those horrible artsy movies Jaskier keeps raving about. He can imagine Jaskier waking up early for once to drive Ciri to morning practice so that Geralt can sleep in for once. He can imagine kissing him and so much more. Which is when Geralt realizes that he has a problem.

*

Two days later, Ciri wants to visit Flower again and Geralt tries to discourage her. The skunk is fine; it does not need Ciri fawning over it to recuperate. She pouts and stomps her feet and calls him a brute, but he insists it is for the skunk’s own good, for her own good, not to get too attached. And, he admits in the yawning silence of his own mind, it’s for his own good not to get too attached to the attractive young vet tech. There is, he insists, nothing between them after all. It wasn’t flirting; the man just likes skunks. Geralt shouldn’t read too much into it. Besides, he’s 34 for fuck’s sake. Far too old for stupid crushes. And he doesn’t have time for this bullshit, he’s got Ciri to take care of: a point that is hammered home harshly when she doesn’t come home from school that evening.

Though every second feels like shards of glass under his skin, Geralt gives her an hour before he starts calling around after her. She is freshly sixteen afterall, and, as good as she is, she is bound to push some boundaries. There is no use overreacting. His first call is to her coach, Yennefer, who says that she skipped practice. Ciri never skips practice. Terror starts to bloom in the pit of his stomach. Geralt tries her friends next, who all say that they haven’t seen her since last period; although Dara, Ciri’s best friend since grade school, does cagily mention that she had said she had plans after school. Teeth grit and feeling more desperation than he is willing to admit to himself, Geralt tries the park ranger station.

“Hello,” Jaskier’s voice picks up, pleasant and impersonal, “Thank you for call-”

“Is Ciri there?” Geralt does not let him finish the standard spiel.

“Geralt?”

“Is. Ciri. There.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me, visiting Flower.” Jaskier sounds confused. “Is she not supposed to be?”

“She was supposed to go to volleyball practice and then come straight home.” Geralt knows he should be angry, but the utter relief that washes over him when he hears that Ciri is safe is hard to fight.

“Shit,” Jaskier swears and then moves the receiver away from the phone to shout. “Ciri! Get your coat! Now!” Geralt cannot hear his daughter’s side of the argument, but whatever it is Jaskier isn’t having any of it. “I don’t care! Your father is on the phone and he’s been worried sick. I’m taking you home right now. I’m really sorry about this, Geralt. I’ll have her home in a flash. I had no idea.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Geralt finds himself stammering. “I can come and-”

“I insist. You just pour yourself a whiskey or something and breathe deeply. She’s fine. I’ll have her home soon.” Geralt isn’t sure what kind of noise he makes, but whatever it is prompts Jaskier to add softly, “Hey, she’s okay. She’s fine. You’re fine. You’re doing great. She’s just sixteen, you know? We’ll be there soon.”

Geralt does have a glass of whiskey and breathe deeply. Surprisingly, it helps. By the time he hears a car pull into the driveway, he feels composed enough to deal with this. As soon as his wayward daughter is through the door, Geralt envelops her in a tight, desperate hug.

“Dad,” Ciri tries to start, but Geralt cuts her off.

“Go to your room. Now.”

“Ugh!” Ciri rolls her eyes and stomps off, but she does comply.

Geralt sighs and buries his face in his hands for a moment, before turning to face Jaskier. “Thank you very much for bringing her home.”

“No problem at all,” he smiles and pats Geralt’s shoulder. “You’re doing a great job keeping it together, I can’t imagine how bonkers I would have gone in your shoes. Makes me seriously want to call my mother and apologize for my entire 15th through 19th years. Still,” he winces slightly, pretty confident that Geralt is not going to want to hear what he is going to say, but committed to saying it anyway. “While I would like to stress that your daughter’s truancy is in no way, shape or form my fault and that she totally deserves whatever punishment you’ve spent the last half hour cooking up, could I maybe argue on her behalf for a modicum of clemency? I mean looking in on a wounded skunk is a hell of a lot tamer than all of the stuff I used to do when I snuck off.”

“I know, Jaskier.”

“I mean it’s not like she’s in a gang or shoplifting or doing drugs or racing motorcycles or something.”

“I know, Jaskier.”

“It could be a lot worse, is all I’m saying, so maybe take that into consideration when you-”

“I don’t need any help raising my daughter!” Geralt finally roars, because his nerves are still a little ragged and it’s too close, too close to what he was idly daydreaming the other day. He regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and he fully expects Jaskier to rightly call him a cad and leave.

Instead Jaskier just blinks at him. “But it would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“What?”

Jaskier seems to suddenly realize exactly what he has just admitted and crosses his arms defensively. He lets out a long sigh before responding. “You know what Ciri and I were talking about today?”

Geralt has no idea how to respond to that, so he just stares.

“She was asking about the little dance skunks do before they spray. Hissing, foot stamping, puffing themselves up, raising their tails… it’s a whole display. She wanted to know why they did that, since it gives the animal that’s bothering them time to get away. Wouldn’t it make more sense to just attack?” Jaskier holds his gaze. Geralt has never met anyone so confident at staring him down. “Do you know why they do it?”

“Skunks don’t want to spray.” Geralt responds methodically.

Jaskier presses his lips together and nods. “They don’t actually want to spray. They’d rather just get along. And half the time they do spray they never actually needed to anyway, they were never in any real danger - it’s just some dog who thinks they want to play or some campers who were trying to get a photo. The instinct’s pretty strong though, so whenever they feel uncomfortable, into their dance they go.”

They both stare at each other for a handful of heartbeats, until the wind picks up and Jaskier shivers. “Anyway,” he continues brightly, reaching out a hand to touch Geralt’s arm companionably, “Good evening, Geralt. Hopefully I’ll see you at lunch again sometime?” And with that, he is gone.

Uncomfortable and not entirely sure why, Geralt closes the door and trudges to Ciri’s room. When he knocks he gets a firm, “Go away!” and when he opens the door anyway he gets a pillow to the face.

“Ciri.” He says firmly.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t get to go see Flower, just because you’re scared of falling in love with Jaskier.” She bites back, showing a level of emotional maturity and awareness that already far dwarfs Geralt’s own.

He needs more time to process this. “You’re grounded for a week,” he mutters, “And no internet except for homework.” Punishment meted out, he leaves her to bemoan the utter tragedy and injustice of being sixteen.

*

Despite being grounded, Geralt takes Ciri out to practice driving on Saturday afternoon. He tells himself that it is not lessening her punishment; it is a skill she needs to learn and he needs to teach her. She hasn’t shown any inclination to want to try again since her disastrous first attempt, but when Geralt offers, she jumps on it, apparently more willing to face that trauma than an entire afternoon at home with her father’s taste in television. After talking her through the basics again, Geralt lets her drive where she wants and doesn’t say anything as she turns towards the park.

When she pulls into the main parking lot and stops the truck, he grumbles, “We’re not going to see Flower. You’re still grounded. You can visit the skunk next week.”

Ciri crosses her arms and makes no move to start the vehicle. “I’ll wait in the truck then.”

Geralt raises a brow. “I don’t particularly feel like visiting Flower.”

“Dad!” Ciri sighs in exasperation. “Go talk to Jaskier. This is stupid. I heard you snap at him the other night. I know you’ve made it your mission in life to take care of me, but if there is one thing you’ve taught me it’s that love is a two way street.”

“Ciri,” Geralt tries to interject, but she just bulldozes on.

“I’m sixteen. I don’t need you home looking over my shoulder every night.” Her eyes are soft and in a flash Geralt can clearly see the incredible woman she is going to become. “You can take care of yourself sometimes too. You can do things for you, because you want them. I want you to.”

Geralt breathes in deeply and holds it for a second. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t actually need her peptalk, although he would be lying if he said it wasn’t appreciated. The morning after he’d snapped at Jaskier he’d decided to apologize and, more than that, he’d decided to stop running away. Yes, he was 34 years old and yes, he was far too old for schoolboy crushes, but the more he looked at what he felt for the other man the less it looked like a crush and the more it looked like something bigger. Or at least the start of something bigger. There was literally only one way to know, if he was brave enough to ask. Although he hadn’t planned on asking today. Jaskier had already demonstrated remarkable patience with Geralt, so he hadn’t thought a few more days until they saw each other at work on Monday would matter. But if Ciri wanted this to happen now, it could happen now.

“Okay.”

“And don’t bother arguing with me! I know you think that you can’t split your focus, but it’s not like Jaskier is going to want you to ignore me! If anything, he can help! And how do you think I feel, knowing you are using me as an excuse to chicken out of- wait, what?” She fumbles in her rant.

“Okay.” Geralt unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle.

“Really?” She can’t keep the surprise from her voice. “But I have a bunch more arguments!”

Geralt just closes the door behind him and goes to find Jaskier. He is, unsurprisingly, working in the lab room alone and singing. His voice is soft and sweet and Geralt can completely understand how he could have carried an almost successful band right up until he actually sees Geralt and squeaks.

“Geralt!” He presses a hand to his chest. “Geez, you gave me a start! What are you doing here? You’re not working this weekend.”

“Ciri insisted I come.”

Jaskier gestures invitingly and Geralt enters the room, leaning against the counter where Jaskier goes back to work mixing some formula, probably for the sick cub Eskel had brought in the other day.

“I wanted to apologize for snapping at you the other day when you brought Ciri home.”

“Oh?” Jaskier glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “You wanted to apologize or Ciri wanted you to apologize?”

He takes the opening. “I wanted to apologize. I know you were just trying to help. I know I am not always good at accepting help, but I, well, I think I’d like to stop dancing and threatening everyone who comes close.”

“Oh?” Jaskier is focussed on his work, but Geralt can see him smiling. He can feel himself smiling in return. “And you came all the way here on your day off to tell me so? Careful, Geralt, or I might start reading something into that.”

“Hm,” Geralt decides to tease back, “Actually we’re here because Ciri had a question about skunks.”

“She did, did she?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Jaskier finishes his work and turns to Geralt, standing just a little closer than would be considered friendly. “So what did she want to know?”

“What are skunk mating habits like? Do they dance for their mates or fight their rivals or build elaborate dens or something?”

“Oh no. Nothing as fancy as that. They just show interest and if their partner is interested too, they don’t spray them.”

“Seems simple enough.” Geralt tentatively puts his hands on Jaskier’s waist. “Do you want to go to dinner with me some night this week?”

“Oh! I forgot!” Jaskier playfully squirms in Geralt’s arms, not really trying to get free. “Skunks only get together in the spring, so you’ll just have to-”

Geralt cuts him off with a kiss. “I am not waiting that long. I need someone to cuddle with for the winter.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr ([octinary.tumblr.com](https://octinary.tumblr.com)) if you want to chat!


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